


home is where the wifi connects automatically

by oqua



Series: Family [2]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: 2010, 2011, 2012, 2013, 2014, 2015 Phan, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Christmas, Dysfunctional Family, Family, Family Angst, M/M, Parent-Child Relationship, Reality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2016-09-22
Packaged: 2018-08-16 15:59:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8108575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oqua/pseuds/oqua
Summary: The wifi at Dan's parents' house is utter crap, which is definitely why he's always so miserable when he visits his family for Christmas. Because of the wifi. 
(Or at least, that's what he chooses to tell himself.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> This story is basically a series of snapshots, one for each year from 2010 through 2015. Every section is labeled with the year in which it's set, so for clarity's sake, pay attention to that!
> 
> Dedicated to [spider](https://twitter.com/spiderbants), of course <3
> 
> _tw:_ food, swearing, family issues, someone getting mildly drunk
> 
> [ **[Tumblr link!](http://oqua12.tumblr.com/post/150786478684/home-is-where-the-wifi-connects-automatically)** ]

**2010**

It's the 23rd of December and Dan is at home, eating dinner with his family. And it's nice. It's nice to be home from university.

The house is brightly-lit and the tablecloth is Christmassy. He's missed this, he tells himself. He's missed having home-cooked meals. He's missed his family. He's happy here.

His mum smiles at him as she doles more peas out onto his plate, and Dan almost manages to smile back. But then he lowers his eyes and prods at the peas and wonders what the fuck is wrong with him.

Because he's at home and the heater is on and he's wearing a jumper, and yet somehow he just doesn't feel _warm_.

His parents ask him about his coursework and his uni friends and his career goals.

He tells them what they want to hear, and they nod appreciatively. They like it when he talks about law school and pretends to have ambitions.

They don't like it when he talks about YouTube or Phil or the fact that he's actually fucking terrified for the future, so he doesn't. He doesn't talk about any of that.

As dinner is wrapping up, his mum pats him on the arm and tells him how lovely it is to have him home. His dad concurs.

Dan just nods weakly, and pulls his sleeves down over his hands, and— _Why does he feel so_ cold _?_

They finish eating, and Dan volunteers to wash the dishes with his little brother, who is thirteen and rolls his eyes every time Dan so much as opens his mouth. Which is fine. Dan was thirteen once; he gets it.

They do the dishes in uncomfortable silence.

Dan's phone buzzes. It's Phil.

**_HAVE YOU EATEN YOUR PARENTS' ENTIRE FRIDGE YET?? :D :D :D_ **

**lol no** , Dan replies, **not yet, but there's still time :p**

**_Hahaa yes plenty of time! ^_^ how was dinner?_ **

**good :]** , Dan texts back. It feels like he's being dishonest, somehow, but he doesn't know what he's supposed to say instead. So he just replaces the phone in his pocket with a sigh.

"Was that your _boyfriend_?" Adrian asks, glancing over.

"Yep."

Adrian rolls his eyes, and they lapse back into silence. The silence drags on. The house feels hollow. Dan feels hollow. Hollow and cold.

Suddenly he can't take it anymore. He pulls his phone back out.

**i'm really cold :(** , he texts Phil. **help plz**

**_Aww! Evil winter!_** , says Phil. ** _I am sending a hug in this text <3 Also can you turn up the heater? Have some hot chocolate? Snuggle in a blanket? <3_**

Which are all perfectly good suggestions, of course. But it's not that sort of cold.

Dan stands there frowning at the message until his brother's voice startles him from his thoughts. "Did he break up with you or something?"

"Huh?"

"You look like you're gonna cry," Adrian informs him with obvious disdain.

"What? No, I'm fine," Dan says quickly, tucking away his phone.

Adrian just rolls his eyes again, and they finish drying the dishes.

*

When Dan reaches his room, the first thing he does is plop down on the ground in front of his laptop. He started uploading "AmazingDan 2" to YouTube before dinner, and he wants to check its progress.

Or perhaps "lack of progress" would be a more appropriate term, as the upload is still only 19% complete.

He sighs and crawls into bed. Why the fuck do his parents have such crappy wifi, anyway? The video isn't even seven minutes long; there's no way it should have a projected upload time of six fucking hours. If he were at Phil's flat this upload would have taken like forty minutes, maybe less.

Dan wraps his duvet more tightly around himself. _Phil's flat._ He thinks about Phil's flat. He thinks about playing video games and baking cookies and filming videos there. He thinks about decorating Phil's Christmas tree together. He thinks about huddling on Phil's sofa at 2am, sobbing about how lost he feels and what a failure he is and how much he hates law school. He thinks about lying next to Phil in bed, feeling safe and loved and warm.

It always feels warm at Phil's flat.

And here at home, it always feels so fucking cold.

And suddenly, Dan is crying. He pulls the duvet up to his face and presses it against his mouth to muffle the noise of his sobs. Then he finds his phone.

**phil** **i'm so sad** , he texts.

**_Oh no what's wrong? :(_ **

And Dan doesn't know what to say. Because the answer is... nothing. Nothing's wrong. Nothing bad happened. It's _nice_ to be home. It's nice to eat food that didn't come out of a can. It's nice to sit on the sofa with his brother, watching TV, the dog asleep at their feet and the Christmas tree glowing warmly in the corner.

It's nice to look at his parents and, for once in his fucking life, see something other than disappointment in their eyes.

So why is he sat alone in his room, sobbing into his duvet?

**idk** , he texts.

Then his gaze lands on his laptop on the floor beside the bed, and he squints down at the screen. The upload is 21% complete, with an estimated five hours remaining.

For some reason, this makes him start crying even harder.

**my parents' wifi is so fucking slow** , he texts Phil.

**_That's why you're sad?_** , asks Phil.

_No,_ thinks some small, cold, forgotten corner of his mind. _No, I'm sad because my family is broken._

**yeah crappy wifi is very sad :(** , he responds.

And it's not even a lie. Not really.

 

***

 

**2011**

It's 11pm on Christmas and Dan is in his room watching his and Phil's Radio 1 Christmas show on the BBC website. Or at least, he _would_ be watching it, if the video hadn't just started buffering for the millionth time. He sighs and refreshes the webpage, only to be met with a screen that reads, "You Are Not Connected to the Internet."

His eyes dart to the menu bar at the top of his laptop screen, and sure enough, the wifi icon is greyed-out. He clicks on it, but when he tries to select his parents' wifi from the list of available networks, he is informed that the network "could not be joined."

"Shit," he mutters. He turns the wifi off, then on again. No luck. Then he checks his phone: No wifi, no 3G, no E, nothing.

He texts Phil: **help my wifi just disconnected and i can't reconnect idk what to do i literally have no internet whatsoever so i can't even google**

Phil, ever his knight in shining armour, responds with words of reassurance and a screenshot of an article outlining how to power-cycle a wifi router. Dan skims through the steps.

**thanks ily i'm off to the lounge to find the router wish me luck** , he texts back, sliding out of bed and heading for the door.

**_Ok! Good luck!! Where are you right now tho??_ **

**in my room** ,Dan responds, without thinking.

Phil's reply is short and sweet and somehow feels like a fucking knife in Dan's stomach.

**_Alone?_ **

Dan stands there for a few moments, frozen, just staring down at the text. His fingers clench around the doorknob. _No_ , he thinks desperately. No, that makes it sound so sad and pathetic, like he's watching his radio show all by himself because his family doesn't care or something. But it's not like that at all. It's not as though he actually _asked_ his parents to watch it and they refused. He just sort of... mentioned it to them offhandedly. Just told them that he and Phil had made a Christmas special for Radio 1 and that it was airing at 10pm on Christmas. If he'd wanted them to watch it, he would have told them that. But he didn't. Because he didn't care if they watched it or not. In fact, he'd figured it would probably be better if they didn't.

**yeah it would be awkward to watch with my parents :p** , he finally replies.

And it's true, he tells himself. If his parents were watching it with him right now, it would be awkward. And stressful. And they'd be annoyed by the wifi thing. And they probably wouldn't like it, anyway. They wouldn't get the jokes. They'd think it was stupid.

He much prefers watching it alone.

**_Hahaa aww I thought it would be awkward too remember?_** Phil texts back. **_But it's actually not! Like my parents and grandparents and bro and his girlfriend are all here and it's lots of fun! :D They all love the show so far!_**

Dan takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. Then he lets go of the doorknob. **haha i know you told me already** , he texts. Phil has been texting him reports on his family's shenanigans all evening, and it's starting to get kind of annoying. Not because Dan is jealous or anything. Just because... well, honestly, there are only so many times you can hear how adorable someone else's grandparents think you are before it starts to get kind of annoying. 

**brb gonna go find that router now!** , he sends, and leaves his room.

*

When he reaches the lounge, his parents are sat there on the sofa, watching TV. Their eyes flit over to him as he enters the room.

"Need something?" asks his mum.

"Yeah, I'm just looking for the router? Like for the wifi? It's in here right?"

"No idea, Love, sorry," she laughs, turning her attention back to the screen.

"Your brother's the one who's always fiddling with that stuff," his dad comments vaguely. "We generally just try not to step on it."

"Yeah, that's fine, I see it," says Dan. He circles behind the sofa and makes his way to the corner of the room where the modem and router are plugged into the wall, a little to the left of the television. The router's lights are blinking disconcertingly.

He takes out his phone and frowns down at the article Phil sent him. "Right, well, it just says I just have to unplug the AC power cord," he says, kneeling down. He picks up the router and examines the two cords that are plugged into it. One of them has a round jack that matches the image in the article. "Okay, I found it," he announces. "So now..."

His dad lets out an irritated sigh, and Dan breaks off.

"Sorry, it's just— our Christmas thing is streaming _right now_ ," he explains, "and I've really got to be live-tweeting it and stuff, like the BBC people said I had to, so I'm kind of, like, in a hurry, so I'm—"

His dad sighs again, and his mum pointedly turns up the volume on the TV.

Which. Okay. Dan can take a hint. He shuts up. He unplugs the AC power cord and the router's lights go dark.

Just then, his phone vibrates. **_Any luck w/ internet?_** ,Phil wants to know.

**working on it** ,Dan replies. **i unplugged the router and it says to let 2 minutes go by before plugging it back in so now i'm just sat here waiting haha**

**_Ok! While you're waiting maybe you could hunt down your family so they can watch the rest of the show with you? ^_^_ **

Dan reads the text. Frowns. Reads it again. Glances at his parents.

And honestly, he almost asks them. He almost asks them to turn off the fucking TV and come watch the rest of the radio show with him and maybe even pretend to be proud. But no, he reminds himself, he can't do that. Because the thing is, as long as he doesn't actually ask, he can just go on believing there's a chance they would say yes.

So. He doesn't ask.

Instead, he grabs the cord and jams it back into the router, probably far more forcefully than necessary. It hasn't been anywhere near two minutes since he disconnected it. He doesn't care.

The lights turn on one by one, blinking at first, then stabilising, until finally they're all glowing steadily, four bright green dots in a vertical column. He sets the router down on the windowsill and considers it for a moment. Then he pulls out his phone and tries connecting to wifi. It works, thank God.

He stands up.

"All sorted?" chirps his mum.

"Yeah," he sighs. "I mean, hopefully. I guess we'll see when I get back to my room and try to finish watching the radio show." He waits for a moment to see if his parents will respond, but they don't. "Alright. Well... wish me luck then," he says, threading behind the sofa and starting to head toward the staircase. But just as he's about to leave the lounge, he pauses. "You guys could watch it, you know," he says casually, before he can stop himself. He regrets it as soon as the words leave his mouth, regrets it so fucking much, but he keeps going anyway. "Like, tomorrow or something. It'll be on the BBC website, so, like, I could watch it again or whatever. With you. If you want."

"Dan, come on, tomorrow's Boxing Day," says his dad, his eyes glued to the television.

"No, I mean, you could watch it whenever," Dan clarifies. "'Cause I'm pretty sure they're leaving it up on the website, like, indefinitely. So you could watch it at any time."

His mum laughs. "Bit silly, isn't it? To leave a Christmas show up all year round?"

Dan stares at her. "I mean, I— I guess. But, like..." He trails off. She's not even looking at him. Neither of them are looking at him.

"I thought you said you were in a hurry," his dad says suddenly. "Now you're just standing there."

For a second, Dan sort of wants to laugh, but the laugh dies in his throat. He folds one arm over his stomach. "Sorry, yeah," he says, staring down at the ground. "Sorry. Okay. Er, good night then. Sorry for like..." He kicks at the carpet with his toe. "...interrupting. Or whatever."

"See you tomorrow, Love," his mum says absently. "Enjoy your... Internet... thing."

"Yeah," Dan mutters. "Enjoy your TV."

*

Back in his room, with his laptop's wifi connection reestablished and the BBC website successfully reloaded, he texts Phil: **wifi fixed! officially watching the show again! :D**

**_Yay!! ^_^_ **

Dan flops down on his bed and hesitates, then writes out another text: **oh** **and** **i did go hunting for my family but it turns out they're already asleep lol that's fine though they can watch it tomorrow.**

If he listens closely, he can hear the TV droning on in the lounge. He blocks it out and keeps typing: **plus maybe our wifi will be better then lmao.**

He presses "send," and immediately feels like shit. He shouldn't have lied. He hates lying to Phil. He's not even really sure why he did it, but it's just... Phil wouldn't understand. Phil _doesn't_ understand.

But then Phil texts back: **_Ok. I'm sorry Dan. I love you <3 <3 <3_**

And Dan pulls the duvet up to his chin and repositions his laptop on his lap and wonders if maybe Phil sort of does understand, after all.

 

***

 

**2012**

It's the 22nd of December and Dan is lying facedown on the floor next to his unpacked suitcase.

He's been like that for half an hour or so, no big deal, when suddenly— "Dan?" comes Phil's voice from the hallway, "Sorry to interrupt your packing, but I found that other bag of tinsel, and I just wanted to—"

The door swings open, and Phil's voice immediately breaks off. "Dan," he breathes, rushing to Dan's side and crouching down. "Dan, you're supposed to _tell_ me when you're having an existential crisis, not just lay in your room by yourself with the door closed."

"It's not an existential crisis," Dan grumbles into the carpet. Because it's not. Existential crises are an emptiness in his chest, a weight in his stomach, a crippling feeling that everything in the universe is meaningless.

This isn't like that. This is just... Well, he's not sure what it is, exactly. But he came upstairs to pack, and then he started thinking about going home, and then he remembered how bad his parents' wifi is, and now he's lying on the ground.

"Are you sure?" asks Phil.

"Yeah. I'm just... I dunno. Thinking about stuff." Dan lifts his head a few centimetres and peers upward. Phil is crouched beside him, his lips pressed together in concern, three strings of colourful tinsel draped around his neck. "Nice tinsel scarf," Dan observes before lowering his face back to the ground.

"Thanks," says Phil. "So what are you thinking about?"

Dan doesn't answer right away. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Phil remove the tinsel from his neck and begin plaiting together the strands. Or trying to, at least.

"I dunno," Dan says at last. "I'm just, like... pondering life's deep philosophical questions."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. Like, you know, whether free food makes up for crappy wifi." Dan sighs. "And I think I'm kinda leaning toward 'no.'"

Phil glances up from the tinsel, looking like he's not sure whether to laugh or frown. "You mean, like, you don't want to go home?" he asks hesitantly. He sounds confused.

To be honest, Dan _feels_ confused. He presses his face harder into the carpet. "No, of course I want to go home," he says. "I just don't know if it's _worth_ it. Like... they literally have the worst wifi ever."

"Yeah, you've mentioned."

Dan's nose is kind of starting to hurt like it's about to break or something, so he turns his head to the side, toward Phil. "Yeah, well, it's true," he says, pouting. "Like, I would honestly visit my family more often if their wifi wasn't so crap."

"Maybe you should talk to them," Phil suggests after a moment. "Get them to switch ISPs or something. I mean, if it's really such a big deal that it's keeping you from _visiting_ them... I'm sure they'd want to fix it, right?"

Dan just shrugs.

"You don't want to talk to them about it?"

"I mean, I do need _some_ way to justify how much I actually hate and dread visiting my family," Dan mutters. His words hang in the air for one second, two seconds, three seconds. Then he laughs. "No, I'm joking, I'm just joking," he says quickly. He laughs again. "I don't hate visiting them. I do hate their wifi, but not..."

Phil is staring at him with a mixture of shock and concern.

Dan just laughs, for the third fucking time. Then he rolls over and sits up, running his fingers through his no-doubt dishevelled fringe. "Okay. Crisis over," he announces. "Not that it was ever really a crisis, but like..."

Phil frowns. "Dan," he says.

"What?"

Phil blinks, then lowers his eyes. "I— I didn't know you felt like that," he mumbles, fiddling with one of the strings of tinsel in his lap.

"Like what?" Dan says in as light a tone as he can manage. "Like I hate my parents' wifi? I complain about it _literally_ every time I visit them."

Phil doesn't answer immediately. When he does, his voice is soft and sad and laden with significance. "Yeah, you're right. You do," he says. "I guess I wasn't really paying enough attention."

Dan wants to be dismissive, to crack a joke, to move on and forget this conversation ever happened. But also he kind of wants to cry. He takes a deep breath.

"It's fine, Phil," he says, not quite meeting Phil's eye. "Could we just... not talk about it?"

Phil looks up. Sighs. Nods. "Yeah," he says finally. "Yeah, of course." Then he picks the sloppily-plaited garland of tinsel up from his lap and gently places it around Dan's shoulders. "For you," he says, smiling.

Dan rolls his eyes. "Thanks, it's beautiful."

"Right? I'm so talented."

Phil leans forward slightly and repositions the tinsel so it hangs more evenly, and when he's satisfied, his hand lingers there on Dan's shoulder. His touch is warm. Gentle. Comforting. Neither of them speaks for a few moments. Then Phil clears his throat. "You know, if you ever do want to talk about it..." he says. "Like, the, er... the wifi. Or anything." His fingers trail down Dan's arm, find Dan's hand, squeeze it gently. "You can always talk to me," he concludes.

"I know," says Dan.

"Good." Phil smiles. "I'll help you pack."

 

***

 

**2013**

It's 9am on Christmas Eve, and Dan is eating breakfast in India with his family, listening to his parents tell him off for spending the first two days of their trip just holed up in the hotel, doing "Internet things."

Somehow, they always manage to make "Internet" sound like a dirty word.

But it's alright. Deep down, Dan knows that he deserves this lecture. Because everything his parents are saying is true.

It's true that if he were better at planning, he could have filmed and edited his Christmas video in advance, before leaving London. It's true that his parents paid thousands of pounds to bring him here to India with them and that he has no right to waste their hard-earned money by spending the whole time sat in front of a screen. It's true that he's lucky to have parents who routinely take him and his brother on trips like this, that he's lucky to have the chance to see the world and experience foreign cultures. It's true that many people would give anything for an opportunity like this. It's true that he's always been this way, always been selfish, always had his head in the clouds, always been unappreciative of his parents and everything they do for him.

It's all true. It makes him feel like shit to hear, sure, but it _is_ true.

So he doesn't argue, doesn't interrupt, just nods occasionally and stares into his lap and waits for them to finish. Which, eventually, they do.

He apologises. They seem satisfied. He thinks that's the end of it.

But then, instinctively, he pulls out his phone, because he feels awkward and he always pulls out his phone in awkward situations. And just like that, everything goes to shit.

"Dan!" his mum says sharply. Dan looks up with a start. "Seriously, put down the phone and eat your breakfast,” she snaps. "What is _wrong_ with you?"

He gapes at her for a moment, then quickly shoves his phone back in his pocket. "Sorry," he mumbles.

But his mum just shakes her head. "Jesus, Dan, didn't you hear anything we just said? Do you really have absolutely no interest in contributing to this family?"

"Yeah, tell you what Dan," his dad cuts in, before Dan can respond, "how about the next time we go on a family holiday together, you do everyone a favour and just don't come along. Alright? That sound good? Judging by this trip, I doubt we'd miss you." His tone is brusque. Businesslike. Almost casual.

Dan lowers his eyes.

There's a tiny bit of green plant matter accidentally adhering to the side of his bagel. Parsley, maybe. Or possibly some exotic Indian seasoning he's never heard of. Whatever the fuck it is, Dan stares at it. He stares at it as if it's the most interesting thing in the entire fucking world, because honestly, right now it kind of is. It's certainly more interesting than the fact that his stomach hurts and his heart is racing and he feels like he's forgotten how to breathe.

He's vaguely aware of his parents watching him expectantly, of his brother sitting unnaturally still beside him, of the other guests in the hotel lobby laughing and talking and eating, some at tables, some queueing by the breakfast buffet.

It all seems very dim and far away, and Dan just keeps staring down at that stupid green speck and forces himself to breathe. He shouldn't take everything so seriously, he tells himself. He worked on a fucking YouTube video for two days straight while the rest of his family went sight-seeing together. They have every right to say they wouldn't miss him if he weren't there.

"Dan, please finish eating; we've got to leave soon if we want to make it to the basilica before the tour starts," says his mum.

Dan looks up from the bagel. Stares at his mum. Stares at his dad. Feels tears filling his eyes.

No, he reminds himself. He has a Method for dealing with his family in these sorts of situations. And Step One is don't cry. So he doesn't.

Step Two is don't get angry. So he doesn't do that either. "Erm, actually, I don't think I'm going to go," he says calmly.

"What did you say?" His mum raises her eyebrows at him.

"I said I don't want to go," he repeats. "I'm feeling sort of poorly. I think I need to rest."

"Dan," says his mum, "come on, Love, don't be silly. Just—"

"No! I'm not going, alright?"

Step Three is to get the hell away from them. So he snatches up his bagel and rises from his seat.

His dad scowls. "Dan—"

" _What_?" snaps Dan, shoving his chair against the table. "What's wrong? Why do you care if I go or not? It's not like you'll _miss me_ , right?"

"Daniel!" his mother exclaims.

He ignores her. Ignores the fact that people in the lobby are now staring at him. Ignores the fact that at some point he started crying, thereby going against Step One.

He storms out of the lobby and sinks to his knees in front of the hotel.

After that his method sort of falls apart, because Step Four is to find sanctuary on the Internet, which, as it turns out, is rather a difficult thing to do when you're on holiday, outside the range of your hotel's shitty wifi, with data roaming disabled.

And then Step Five is to ring Phil, but it's currently 4am in England. And even if Dan didn't value general social norms about not calling people at four in the fucking morning, he would still need wifi to call or text, since he has neither data nor mobile service in India.

He flicks the green thing off of his bagel, takes a bite, and resolves to find some fucking Internet. The bar he went to last night in order to upload his video had had decent-enough wifi, but he's pretty sure it doesn't open till noon. That's fine though. He'll find somewhere else. He's determined.

So he scrubs the tears off his face, takes another bite of his bagel, and sets out in search of Internet access.

*

The hotel where his family is staying is just couple minutes away from a beach, and like seemingly every beach in Goa, its shore is lined with beach shacks.

Beach shacks, as far as Dan can tell, are basically like cheap restaurant/bar places with no walls and thatched roofs, where people go to drink, relax, and escape the sun. Dan reasons that at least some of them must be equipped with wifi, and his intuition is right: No sooner has he stepped foot on the beach than he spots a beach shack with a handwritten sign taped to one of its wooden poles, boasting FREE WIFI.

He takes off his shoes so they won't get sand in them, steps into the shade, and approaches the counter.

"Good morning," says the man working there.

"Er, hello," says Dan. "Erm. The sign said you've got free wifi, so I was just... uh..."

"Free wifi is for paying customers," the man tells him, winking slyly.

"Oh— right—" Dan stammers, grateful that he happens to have his wallet with him. He orders chips and some drink called Cabo, which sounds like it's basically Malibu under a different name. The man pops into the kitchen and returns a few moments later with a bottle of alcohol and a basket of seasoned chips.

"I'm so glad you've got wifi," Dan says as he pays for his order.

"I wouldn't dream of not offering it," the man says, taking Dan's money and handing him his change. "There is no grief worse than the grief of lacking wifi," he asserts. Then he looks up and gazes straight into Dan's eyes. "Except, perhaps," he adds, "the grief of feeling unloved."

Dan gapes at him, equal parts captivated and unnerved. They stare at each other for a few moments. Then the man gives him a satisfied nod, grabs a napkin, and writes something down on it. "Here you go," he says, sliding it toward Dan.

Dan picks it up hesitantly, half expecting to find it inscribed with the meaning of life or something. But it's just a series of numbers. He looks up questioningly, and the man laughs.

"The wifi password."

*

Three hours and several drinks later, Dan finally calls Phil, because he's bored and lonely and too drunk to care that it's still not even 7am in England.

Phil answers groggily, and Dan launches into a rambling tirade against shitty wifi and shitty beer and shitty parents and God knows what else.

"Dan, wait, wait, hold on," Phil interrupts finally. "Are you— drunk?"

"I think so, yeah," says Dan.

"What time is it there? Like noon?"

"Yeah... something like that."

"Where are you?"

"The beach? I dunno. Beach... thing. Lots of people. There's good chips."

"Are you having lunch or something? Are you with your family?"

"No, fuck them," says Dan.

"Dan? Where's your family?"

"I don't know! Some... some fucking... tomb... or something. Visiting stuff. Culture. You know."

Phil asks a lot of annoying questions. He wants to know why Dan's not with his family. He wants to know how much Dan's had to drink. He wants to know if Dan is close to his hotel. He wants to know if Dan knows how to get there.

"Dan, I want you to go back, okay? Back to your hotel. And call me as soon as you get there, okay?"

"But I need the _wifi_ here," Dan whines.

"There's wifi in your hotel," says Phil. "Remember? You Skyped me yesterday from your room."

"But the guy said... the grief... no greater grief—" He breaks off impatiently. "I dunno. But he said that. About the wifi."

"Yeah, but Dan, I don't want you to, like, keep drinking and end up passing out all alone in the middle of India," says Phil.

"But the hotel wifi is _shitty_ ," says Dan. "It's _so_ shitty. Hotels. The wifi." He glares down the table. "I don't even _like_ f-family holidays," he mumbles. "The wifi's always shit. I fucking hate it. So— so who cares if they don't... w-want me to come with... next time. I'll just stay h-home with my g-good wifi. Who c-cares? Fuck them." He wipes his eyes on the wifi password napkin.

"I know, Dan. It's okay," says Phil. "I love you."

"I love you too," Dan sobs. "Phil, I want to go h-home."

"I know. I know you do. But Dan, right now, how about you just go back to your hotel. Okay? Can you do that for me?"

"Okay," Dan whispers finally. "Yeah. I will."

*

Step Six is to wait it out and let everything blow over. And so he does. Back in his hotel room, he flops onto the bed. He changes into his pyjamas. He orders room service for lunch and drinks lots of water and has a cold shower. He takes a nap.

That evening, when his family returns, his mum wakes him up and asks if he's feeling any better. And honestly, he feels like shit, but he says yes, thanks, he just needed to take it easy for a day.

His mum says she's glad, and his family tells him about the tourist stuff they visited. They've already eaten, so Dan gets room service again.

No one mentions the drama of that morning.

The hotel lobby people spend two hours setting up a nativity scene that is missing the baby Jesus figurine, and Dan changes his Twitter name to "Danta HoHoHowell."

**merry christmas!** , he texts Phil at midnight. **sorry for being such a horrific mess earlier today.**

Phil responds with a million Christmas-themed emojis and a message so gracious that it probably would have made Dan cry if he weren't already so emotionally exhausted.

*

The Final Step is to repress it. Which Dan does.

And six months later, when his family goes on a summer holiday to Austria, and Dan chooses to stay home, it's only because he's heard that the wifi in Austria is shit.

 

***

 

**2014**

It's the day after Boxing Day and Dan is on a train heading back to London.

He'd been planning to stay with his parents for longer than usual this Christmas, maybe, if things had gone well.

But of course, things hadn't gone well.

So late last night he'd bought a new train ticket, and early this morning he'd informed his family that there'd been a change in plans, and he suddenly needed get back to London asap in order to upload a gaming video which was saved on their iMac. Not a very good excuse, but his parents hadn't asked many questions. Actually they hadn't asked _any_ questions, just made a few passive-aggressive comments about him being selfish and irresponsible. Which. Whatever. He'd expected worse.

In any event, he's on the train now, and he'll be home in an hour. And then everything will be fine.

His train carriage is empty, probably because it's 10am and most people either already at work or still sleeping off Boxing Day hangovers.

Outside, the sky is cloudy, like maybe it's going to rain later in the day, and the world looks terribly sad and dismal.

Or maybe that's just Dan projecting.

He sighs and slumps down in his seat. Then, because he doesn't know what else to do, he rings Phil.

"Dan?"

"Hey," Dan says.

"What's up?"

Dan straightens up a bit and gazes out at the storm clouds gathering on the horizon.

"I dunno," he says. "Nothing much. I'm on a train."

"A _train_?"

"Yeah, I'm on my way back. To London."

"Oh," Phil says. "I thought— I thought you were gonna stay till the 30th?"

"Yeah, well. I decided to leave early."

"Oh," Phil says again. "Um, did something... happen? With your family?"

"No, no, no, nothing like that," Dan tells him. "I just, uh. I just couldn't cope with the wifi anymore, you know?"

"The wifi," Phil repeats.

Dan presses the phone a bit harder against his ear. "Yeah, their wifi is literal shit, remember? It's _always_ shit. Like, I don't even get what their problem is, you know? Like, it's the fucking year of our Lord two-thousand and fourteen; I think it's about time they sorted out their Internet, you know?"

"I mean, if it makes you feel better, I'm pretty sure _all_ parents have bad wifi," Phil says on the other end of the phone.

And Dan frowns, because somehow it feels like a slight. Like Phil is implying that he's being unreasonable or something. Like Phil thinks he should have just stuck it out for another couple days. But he _had_ to leave early. For his own fucking sanity, he had to leave early.

"Okay, but Phil," he says desperately, "my parents' wifi isn't just 'bad.' It's like... _nonfunctional_. Like, to watch YouTube at their house I literally had to put it on 360 p, pause it, and then _wait_ like ten minutes for the beginning of the video to load."

"That does sound pretty awful."

"Yeah," says Dan, gaining momentum. "Yeah, and I was complaining to them about it, and they just were like, 'I don't see why it matters so much, blah blah blah, there's more to life than the Internet.'  But like, the Internet _is_ my life, you know what I mean? It's important to me. And they just can't, like, understand that. They never fucking understand. And, like, yesterday, they—"

Shit. Wait. He'd resolved not to mention that bit to Phil. "I, er, I dunno. Never mind," he finishes lamely.

"Dan?" Phil says slowly. "What happened yesterday?"

Dan closes his eyes. And yeah, he could just ignore the question, or lie, or hang up. He could. But the truth is that he feels like a fucking mess right now, and Phil always manages to un-mess-ify him, at least a little bit. "Nothing, I just... I told my parents about the whole book deal thing," he admits. "They thought it was stupid," he adds, more quietly.

"They _what_?"

"Well, not _stupid_ , but like..." Dan hesitates. Considers how much he should actually tell Phil. Decides to give a relatively uncensored version of the truth. "Like, I described, you know, our ideas or whatever, and my mum was just like, 'Hm, do you really think there's a _market_ for that sort of thing?' Which— Well obviously I got sort of pissed off, and so we were, like, arguing. And then my _dad_ —" Dan clears his throat and swallows. "Um. My dad was like, 'Well, you know, it's probably not worth getting too upset about this alleged book, 'cause if I know Dan, he'll probably be too lazy to even finish writing the damn thing.' Which my mum thought was fucking hilarious, of course..."

"Oh my God," Phil whispers. "Dan, that's not—" He lets out a pained little huff of air. "Why would they say that?" he asks finally.

Dan just stares out the train window. Focuses on the trees flitting by on the horizon. Wills himself not to cry.

Lord knows he cried more than enough last night.

"Dan," Phil goes on, a note of desperation in his voice. "Dan, your parents have _no idea_ what they're talking about, okay? You know that, right?"

"Yeah, I know," Dan says, not taking his eyes off the trees outside the window. And intellectually, he _does_ know. He knows that his parents aren't qualified to give advice about book publishing. He knows that, for whatever reason, they always insist on underestimating his capabilities. He knows.

But the thing is, this time, all they did was say stuff that he'd _already been thinking_. Like, that maybe the idea of writing a book and going on tour is too ambitious. That maybe he'll fuck it up somehow.

"I just— I mean, I dunno," he sighs, switching the phone to his other ear. "You don't think they're right, do you?" It comes out sounding a touch more pathetic than he'd intended. "Just, 'cause I don't want to, like, drag us down or anything. I'm bad with deadlines and stuff. And, I mean," he adds with a bitter laugh, "it's true. I'm generally pretty fucking lazy."

"No, you're _not_ ," cries Phil. "Dan, you're not lazy; you've never been lazy. You say that, but— Dan, you're one of the hardest-working people I know. Okay? It's gonna be fine. It's gonna be _so_ much fun to make this book, Dan. I guarantee you."

The grey sky looks impossibly vast, looming over those tiny trees on the horizon.

"Yeah," Dan says, clearing his throat. "Alright. I'm sorry. I'm being stupid."

"No, don't be _sorry_ , just..." On the other end of the line, Dan can hear Phil draw a shaky breath, like he's about to cry or something. But when he finally speaks, his voice sounds perfectly steady. "I'm glad you left early," he says decisively. "Because your parents have no right to say stuff like that to you. Like, it's not even _true_. And they're your _parents_ ," he adds, his words coursing with mingled fury and anguish.

And it feels good, in a way. To hear Phil be so offended on his behalf. To know that Phil is on his side, that Phil is feeling all the disdain and outrage that Dan sometimes forgets his parents probably deserve.

But at the same time, he kind of wishes he could make Phil understand that it's really not worth it. It's not worth it for him to get worked up about Dan's parents saying "stuff like that," because honestly, Dan's parents say stuff like that all the time. They always have, they probably always will, and maybe it's shitty, and maybe it kind of hurts to hear, but it's _fine_. Dan is fine. Dan is used to it. Sometimes it makes him sad, of course, and sometimes it makes him angry. But mostly, it just makes him _tired_.

And suddenly he's tired of this conversation, too. Tired of trying to convince himself he doesn't care. Tired of willing himself not to cry. Tired of Phil feeling sorry for him.

He closes his eyes momentarily. "Phil," he says weakly, "it's alright. It doesn't matter." He can hear Phil start to object, so he presses on. "Just... forget I mentioned it. Like, they've said that sort of thing before; it's really not a big deal. It doesn't bother me. Alright? I mean it did, but like, I got over it. I honestly would have stayed if it weren't for the shitty wifi. But just, last night I was in my room, and I wanted to go online, and I couldn't, because nothing would fucking load, and I was just like, fuck this, I have to get out of here."

"Okay," Phil says quietly, like he doesn't really believe what Dan is saying, but he has enough sense to know not push the matter. "Well, whatever the reason. I'm glad you're going back to London."

"Yeah," mumbles Dan, "me too."

* 

By the time he finally reaches London, it's raining, and he's crying.

But he'll have decent wifi soon, and that's all that matters, really.

 

***

 

**2015**

It's Christmas, and Dan is stood in the corner of his parents' garage, scowling down at his phone as he scrolls through the sea of empty image boxes and half-loaded text posts that is his Tumblr dash.

His parents are in the process of switching broadband providers. Only, for some idiotic reason, they decided to cancel their old service before signing up for a new one, and apparently there won't be anyone available to set it up until after New Year's. Which means no broadband connection until January. Which means no wifi, just shitty 3G. And since the only place in the entire fucking house that even _gets_ 3G is the garage, that's where Dan has been spending a great deal of time over the past few days.

It's freezing cold and lit solely by one pathetic light bulb and probably infested with spiders, but Dan is willing to overlook those minor flaws in the name of Internet access.

The door leading from the garage to the interior of the house is open, because Dan hadn't had the heart to close it. He can just barely make out the distant sound of his family's voices. He kind of wonders what they're doing. But also he doesn't give a fuck. Honestly, he could go the rest of the day without seeing a single family member and he would be perfectly happy.

Apparently, though, his mum didn't get the memo, because he hasn't even been in the garage for an hour before she turns up, rapping on the door frame.

"Knock knock," she says.

"Who's there," he deadpans, not looking up from his phone.

"That would be your mum," she says lightly, "here to suggest that _maybe_ Christmas is a day that's best spent celebrating with your family, rather than holed up here in the garage."

Dan continues scrolling. "Sorry, this is the only place I can get Internet and I've got YouTube stuff I need to do."

"Mm, well, I'm sure you're having fun, but I'd say your family is maybe just a _tad_ more important than YouTube," chides his mum, sounding so unbelievably patronising that he nearly rolls his eyes at her. "Don't you think so, Dan?" she prompts after a moment. This time he does roll his eyes at her.

"I dunno, I mean, YouTube is kind of my _job_. So I'd say what I'm doing right now is... actually pretty important," he says, pulling down on the screen to refresh Tumblr. And lo and behold, there at the top of his dashboard is a photo of an inflatable alien sitting at an office desk. It's the only image that Tumblr actually managed to load for him all day. Truly a Christmas miracle. He reblogs it.

"Dan," snaps his mum, "do I need to take your phone away?"

"Mmm, nope, you don't get to confiscate my stuff anymore; I'm not fifteen."

He glances up from his phone.

His mum is stood there in the doorway, staring at him, her arms crossed and her eyebrows raised. For a second, he's pretty sure she's going to start shouting. But then, instead, she just _sighs_ , as though he's the most burdensome fucking child in the world and she's some sort of martyr for putting up with him. "Alright," she says tersely. "Well. If at some point today you decide you want to grow up and stop being ridiculous. We'll just be inside."

"Yep, okay," says Dan, turning his attention back to his phone.

A few moments pass in silence. Then his mother turns on her heel and leaves, shutting the door firmly behind her. It closes with a hollow thud. For some reason, Dan's chest kind of constricts at the sound.

For a long while, he just stands there, staring at the closed door.

Then he sits down on the floor of the garage, pulls his knees up to his chest, and rings Phil.

Phil answers right away. "Dan! Merry Christmas!" he says brightly. Dan can hear laughter in the background. Because of course the Lesters are laughing. Because they're the Lesters. And it's Christmas.

Dan sighs in spite of himself. "Hey," he says, "What— what're you up to?"

"Right now we're playing pass the parcel," Phil laughs. "And I've got sixteen relatives over, so it's pretty— Hang on, could I actually call you back a bit later?"

"Phil?" is all Dan says, but it's enough.

"Dan, what's..." Phil murmurs. "Shit, I'm sorry, I didn't— We can talk now, it's fine, I'm just gonna—" Dan hears Phil clomping up stairs, and the sound of laughter dies away. "Okay, sorry," Phil says at last. "What's up, is everything alright?"

"I dunno," says Dan. He hesitates. "Tumblr won't load."

"You mean, 'cause there's no Internet?"

"Yup."

"Did you try going in the garage or wherever? You found 3G there before, right?

"Yeah, I'm in the garage, but—" Dan's voice cracks. "The 3G is so shitty, Phil. Literally half my dashboard won't load. Like it won't show any gifs or pictures or anything, just text posts and a bunch of white boxes with captions underneath that don't even make any sense because you don't know what they're talking about, and—" He breaks off with a sob.

"Dan, are— are you crying?" Phil asks quietly.

"Kind of," Dan whimpers. He tries to dry his eyes with the sleeve of his Christmas jumper, but the tears are falling too fast. "It's just— like—" he chokes out, "Every Christmas I always think, like, maybe it'll be better this time, you know? But it never is. I'm just— God, I'm so fucking _stupid_. I honestly thought it wouldn't be that bad this year; I thought it would be okay. I _wanted_ it to be okay. And like, it sort of was, at times. Like when I first got here, and like this morning, when we were opening presents, you know, everything seemed f-fine. But then— um—" Dan sniffs, and makes another unsuccessful attempt to dry his eyes on his jumper. "But then there was fucking Christmas dinner, and everything went to shit... and there's still no fucking wifi... and I'm just—" He inhales sharply and tries to get a fucking grip on himself before continuing, because by this point he's crying so hard that Phil probably can't even understand a word he's saying. "I'm just— just sat here all alone in the fucking garage, trying to find fucking 3G or whatever, and the rest of them are all— all inside, and— like— I just hate it here," he bursts out finally. "I just hate being here with such a shitty fucking Internet connection, you know?"

"I know," Phil says gently. "I know, Dan."

Dan sniffs a few times. Wipes his eyes. "Fuck, Phil, I'm sorry for interrupting your family stuff to fucking, like, cry to you about Tumblr not loading." He laughs weakly.

"Dan..." says Phil. "Don't— It's okay." Then, after a moment's hesitation: "Whatever happened there, Dan, it's okay."

And Dan knows Phil isn't talking about the shitty Internet.

Which. Well. Neither was Dan, really. "Phil," he says, staring down at the cement floor of the garage, "when we're parents—"

And then he pauses, because it's not like they've never discussed being parents before, but actually saying the words still makes Dan's breath hitch. He exhales shakily. "When we're parents," he says again, "we're gonna have the best motherfucking wifi on the planet, alright?"

"Yeah, I— yeah, of course," Phil splutters. "Of course," he says again, this time with more certainty.

"We're going to be such good parents."

"Dan. We'll be the greatest parents to have ever existed," Phil says, and his voice is so warm and solemn and _certain_.

"Good." Dan nods to himself. Presses his lips together. "And— And also when our kids are home for Christmas we'll give them loads of those little cakes like your mum makes," he adds.

"Cakes," Phil repeats, and Dan can hear a smile in his voice. "Yes, those are important."

"And we'll play pass the parcel with them or whatever."

Phil laughs. "Alright, yeah."

"And then at Christmas dinner we won't, like, ignore them. Or insult them. Or, you know, just generally say shit that makes them feel like crap about themselves."

There is a pause, but only a tiny one. "No," Phil says. "No, we definitely won't do any of that."

Dan doesn't respond, just sits there, thinking about his current family, and anticipating his future one, and—

"Dan? Are you okay?" Phil asks, a bit tentatively.

"Yeah," says Dan. "I'm okay." 

And suddenly, he realises that it's true. He's okay.

He's sat in a cold, dark garage on Christmas, and his phone battery is dying, and his family is still just as fucked up as ever, and he hasn't got any fucking wifi.

And none of that stuff is okay.

But _he_ is.

And anyway, soon enough, he'll be back home.

*

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are appreciated! <3
> 
> And you can also find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/oqua12) and [Tumblr](http://oqua12.tumblr.com/post/150786478684/home-is-where-the-wifi-connects-automatically) \- feel free to talk to me there about anything! :)  
> 


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